Taking Things For Granted

Something as simple as sleeping.

Sleeping has become an interesting experience all on its own. After sleeping just one night at LDS Hospital on the standard-issue hospital bed - no doubt designed by the same guy as the medieval "rack" - and having to sleep at an exact 30-degree angle as decreed by my neurosurgeon, I have found that position to be nearly impossible to maintain.

Being a left- or right-side sleeper all my life, adapting to anything other than a 90- or 270-degree attitude (pitch, yaw, whatever), is quite challenging. And for me to keep in that position requires a foam cervical collar, also likely designed by someone in the dark ages.

The "log-roll" is the accepted method for getting into the left- or right- axes described above, provided that there's a flat spot.

This log has no flat spot.

[In hindsight, it appears that Marilee's decision to purchase a two-ended recliner for the two of us has become a Godsend. With Lexie as a counterweight at 2am, I was able to sleep quite comfortable at an approximate 30-degree-ish angle. Or was it foresight?]

Free Time

I seem to have an over-abundance of free time - I'm only at my first full day of post-op and I'm just a bit stir crazy. Call it cabin fever if you'd like. I could drive if need be, but Marilee would rather I didn't. But considering all the neat-o meds still coursing through my system, maybe I'll just stay put.

Sitting here with not much else to do but heal, it occurred to me that it would be a great time to catch up on some long-put-off reading. Having just picked up a few tomes from my basement library, and realizing that "The Word Museum" and "Casual Lex" aren't exactly War and Peace - the Salt Lake Valley white pages would be just as riveting - I grabbed a tome I'd heard about last year on NPR called "The Year of Living Biblically" by A. J. Jacobs.

I had just gotten to page 9 of the hard cover edition when I was overcome by the urge to grab my Bob's BS journal and make a few notes and quickly ran out of room on a full page.

Having just reached that point and realizing that all this time I have on my hands that I can garner quite a bit of useful stuff or worthless crap.

Or pure BS.

Thus the grabbing of my BS book.

It had me remember that in my hospital room, there was not only nothing to write ON, but nothing to write WITH. It took my nurse-on-duty a bit of time to track down some paper, once she inadvertently left a pen in the room with me. Just a simple Bic stick pen, it had me wanting to write something. Anything.

If only to make note of things to write about in the coming days and weeks of myself nursing my sore neck.

Interestingly enough, when I was making those notes earlier in my manual notebook, my arm was not hurting one bit. Now, typing on the notebook, the pins and needles are starting to remind me they've not entirely left my system. Yeah, I know, give it time.

So using a simple PENCIL in my BS journal, I was able to stop a pain from occurring.

And what does that mean to you? You wouldn't have been able to read this until MUCH later.

But do YOU need a Bob's BS book? Why not? Manual notebooks work just as well as their electronic counterparts, and don't crash.

Tempting, isn't it?

Lately I've Been Watching Chelsea

Only by sheer accident have I lately been watching Chelsea Lately, one of THE coolest late-night talk shows around. The TV-Content warning label in the upper-left-hand corner of the screen when the show starts suggests just what to expect - typically, just underneath the large TV logo is DSL. There's no violence, hence the lack of the letter V. Something you'd expect from a movie.

But this is a talk show.

I TiVo her show since I don't stay up late, pre- or post-op. So this morning I'm watching last-evening's show, and she's just said she's not going to even mention a certain reality-show any more.

Nor am I, not that I've ever mentioned it anyway.

But as with my comment last year about the Jonas Brothers and Volcanoes, I'm going to mention the other thing just once, just to see what happens to my reader count.

There's nothing to see here. Move along:

John and Kate Plus 8

Oh Negative

There are many things hospital people ask you when you check in for any given procedure. The one I find interesting that they don't ask is what blood type you are. Marilee said it's likely that they wouldn't take your word for it; they draw blood anyway during that initial insertion of a catheter, and they're going to find out soon enough.

And, again, there I was, checking in at a hospital (last time was for my gall bladder removal), and again, they did not ask.

I'm a popular guy in that regard - I'm O-Negative.

And I only know that because I donated blood a few times back in the 80's.

Do you know your blood type?

Anyway, the first time I donated blood way back then, I talked to my Dad about the procedure, and he said something I've not forgotten since then and likely never will forget: "How could that be?"

No, I don't know what type he was, nor do I know what type my Mom was. Maybe then, like now, not much is known by the layman about what happens when one blood type meets another in the whole genetic world. After all, the only time that topic comes up is if you're in need of a transfusion, or that there's a likelihood you'll want to make a baby.

In fact, the last time I was asked what my blood type was, was in a bar in Tokyo in 1985 at 3am.

But we'll leave that story for another time...

Post-Op

I'm home from the hospital for some much-needed recuperation.

And now pain free, at least the pain for which I went in for. Now the pain to get rid of is from the surgery.

I want to thank the staff at LDS Hospital for taking such good care of me, specifically Rochelle, Jeff, Angie, Tiva, Laura, Maria, Elizabeth, Ondira, and Breanne. Through the haze of anesthesia, I might have missed a few names; for those I missed, I thank you, too.

And thanks particularly to Dr. Robert G. Peterson, my neurosurgeon.

And in case you're wondering, his middle name is Gordon.

I'll have more in the next few days but for now I'm exhausted.

Incommunicado

I'm actually writing this post Monday at about 3:30pm, but having it post at Tuesday, 9:15am.

The reason? At that particular time Tuesday I'll be checking into LDS Hospital for my surgery.

So although there won't be any "real-time" blog post on Tuesday, I'll be taking my cell phone with me so as to "Tweet" once I'm coherent enough to do so.

How will you know I've "tweeted"? It'll be over there in the right-hand sidebar under "@bobsbs", which is oddly enough my Twitter username.

My surgery dictates I'll be spending the night at LDS, so nothing much will be forthcoming Tuesday evening, either. Again, look for a tweet or three.

All for now - I'm going to go nap some more before tonight - tomorrow's going to be a loooong day...

Type to you all soon!

Lightning Storms

Theoretically, the image below should show the current real-time lightning strikes across the United States. It's lifted directly from the United States Precision Lightning Network's home page.



So theoretically, if you bookmark the image - not the page - you can always see the current lightning strikes across the country.

If not, just bookmark the page - not the image - and revisit it whenever you want to see how flashy the US is at any given moment.

Cool!

Something To Look Forward To

With all the great rain we've had thus far this spring, I'm happy to say the weeds are doing quite well in our back yard. And even though our front yard has one less tree, the weeds which had been surrounding that patch were expertly pulled recently by Jenn.

There's still much that could be done in both yards, but since I have a black thumb - though I still want to know how to make our Virginia Creeper propagate - I can't even imagine where to start the process of where, what, and when, as far as actual plants go.

But there's hope on the horizon, and will likely be just in time for me to venture out after my neck surgery.

Coming up on June 12th and 13th will be the Hidden Garden Benefit Tour in Utah County. For $13 you'll be able to traipse through fourteen private gardens from Alpine to Orem to really see how to do "it".

More information can be had at the Tour's website at www.hiddengarden.org.

News You Can Use

This morning there's an article in the Deseret News - yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I've been a bit harsh of late - that I can actually relate to.

While Ann Cannon's wrist armor will be setting off metal detectors all over the place, my hardware will be located in my neck. She cannot type due to something resembling a wrist rocket; I cannot type before my surgery.

Anyway, I fully enjoyed the article, and I think you will, too:

Broke wrist. Had surgery. Life stuff hard.

Gravity Sucks

Be it known that in my current physical state that gravity sucks. Not the other way 'round.

In a sequence of events that can only be described as miraculous, Marilee called for me for an appointment with a neurosurgeon Wednesday, he saw me yesterday, and my surgery is scheduled for this coming Tuesday.

Yes, surgery. And, yes, a scalpel will be involved.

THANK GOD.

As far as gravity is concerned, if I lay completely motionless with my right arm straight out from my torso at a 90-degree angle, I can sleep rather well. And when not sleeping, and gravity being what it is, it's all meds. Thank God for meds. Even now, as I type, with my arm(s) at awkward angles, I can only tap-tap-tap for only a few minutes at a time. But even with the pain, I felt I needed to get this post off before I must lay down and get gravity off my mind. And arms.

So far this morning, I've had a Valium, two extra-strength Tylenols, and a Lortab. And while my mind might be a bit foggy, I can type.

And after Tuesday, I'll be able to type without that cocktail. I'll probably have a different cocktail, but they'll be part of the road to recovery rather than numerous stop-gaps, which has been the case with the other top-notch¹ physicians I've seen to date for this same affliction.

If you've noticed a particular thread these last few posts, you'll realize I'm not one to believe any one physician and what they may have to say at any one given examination. Marilee is a fan of "Mystery Diagnosis" type programs; she TiVo's every one she can find. They're all about people who have seen infinite numbers of MD's (and quacks) for months and years and never find a diagnosis until ONE caring MD finds some obscure non-textbook case or other in a similarly-obscure text. And even while some of those cases are so rare there aren't any set cures, at least they have a name.

I got along rather well in the hour or so we spent with my neurosurgeon, Dr. Robert G. Peterson. The mere fact his first name is Robert made me acutely aware he had a bit of credence. That he's also an Aquarius (January 28 vs. my January 31) made him even more so credible - a fact that Marilee realized all too well - he's a bit of an ass in the way he speaks and acts. I did not ask what his middle name is - mine also starts with a G - that would be too freaky, and I decided to leave it alone.

So anyway, that's what's going on in my pain, meds, and "My Spinal Surgery" posts for now. I'll try to post again before the procedure, but don't ecpect too much for a few days or even a week afterwards; but my mind will be active and will come up with some choice subjects afterwards.

You can bet on that.

¹ That comment is very tongue-in-cheek. MD#1: Here's some meds, you'll be fine again in a week or so. MD#2: Here's some more meds, and a list of orthopedists. MD#3: Go to this other MD(#4), he'll poke some needles in your back, oh, and here's some more meds. Which brings us to MD#5, the surgeon.

Prince Valium

If you've come here looking for a reference to the movie SpaceBalls, you'll be disappointed. Prince Valium is how my friend Dave refers to me since I've been having my neck/back/arm pains.

And Prince Valium has just entered my star system; it's the only thing that keeps the pain at bay.

I have that appointment with the orthopedic surgeon today at 1pm. While I'm not worried about what he might suggest as a treatment regimen, it was after a short comment Marilee made last evening that made me realize what else he might suggest - for the better, of course.

She (Marilee) has a friend who had to undergo some neurological surgery a year or so ago, but the surgeon would not do the surgery unless the friend quit doing something for a period of six weeks prior to the procedure.

Marilee reminded me of that, and to not be surprised if this surgeon suggested the same thing.

So while my pain in the neck may subside, the pain of quitting smoking will make up for the pain in my arm.

There's No Instruction Manual For Life

Let alone trying to navigate the mess the health care system has become.

I should know. Or rather, my wife knows.

If it weren't for my dear wife of three years - actually, we've done away with the whole "when we met" anniversary and just lumped that in with our wedding anniversary, thus making yesterday's date of May26th our five year anniversary - the whole mess of figuring out insurance documentation is her job. Because it really is her job.

I was off work last week, since the meds I've been taking make me dangerous on the road. Dizzy enough from the meds to trip over the coffee table in the family room, God forbid what I might trip over driving a 3/4 ton truck during work.

After my X-ray and consultation sent me in the direction of an MRI and subsequent consultation, I had my "operation" last Friday - laying motionless, face down on a table similar to a massage table while a physiatrist (that's not a typo) deftly injected cortisone into my spinal cavity. The initial consultation with him did say that the effects could take "a week or two", but not what to do in the meantime.

In that meantime, the pain has not subsided; it's actually gotten worse. As it had been in my last week's off time. So I continue to take my pain meds, and still am not driving.

To make matters worse if not already so, having already run out of sick time, and after a much-needed vacation earlier this year, I'm getting rather low on vacation time. Which means, of course, that in a few days I won't be getting compensation of any kind.

Enter FMLA - the Family Leave Medical Act. But not having the prowess in such things as my wife does, I figured it would just kick in automatically.

NO, I DID NOT KNOW THIS, so don't bother with your "What you should have done" comments.

To get things rolling on that note, I've got another appointment with another physician - that will make FIVE for this particular affliction I've been living with for about five weeks now - tomorrow at 1pm. This guy's an orthopedic surgeon. An actual, live, breathing dude that actually uses a scalpel in his job. So far it's been a pen, pencil, or keyboard. And just a bit of needle.

What the HELL ever happened to the doctors who did everything themselves?

Anyway, more to come tomorrow after THAT appointment, I'm sure.

Our Virginia Creeper

Last October, I posted an entry about the vine that grows on our chain-link gate. Only now, the middle of May, is it finally growing in thick enough to again block the view from the street of our oh-so-tidy back yard.

Which is, of course, the reason we've let it grow.

It's a Virginia Creeper, as one Carabeth commented, on that original blog post. She'd found my comment at blurbomat's blog entry of his Virginia Creeper (Carabeth even commented on his post). That is written by Jon Armstrong, husband of the rock-star-status blogger Heather Armstrong at dooce.com. Funny how stuff gets around, posted to, commented on, etc.

It grows from the same spot every year, from the neighbor's yard. From two or three very thick "branches" of vine. I'd never want it to die, of course, because I LIKE the vine. It does stuff. I guess I really do have the same view of horticulture that Marilee does: if a plant doesn't bloom, or bear fruit, or at least change color one a year, then what good does it do as an ornamental plant?

But that's a post for another day.

So since I don't want the creeper to ever die, I do want to know how to make them propagate. The berry-things shriveled up into things that looked like seeds, but they didn't do much when planted. And as it is springtime now, the vine will soon produce something akin to pollen as it did last year.

But those spindly appendages - call them prehensile tails if you want - look like they could dig into whatever medium I might lay them across and thus become roots.

Surely there's some horticulturist out there that knows - Carabeth, perhaps - and I don't want to have to go to a garden center to get a fresh new plant since there's an abundant crop of creepers in my back yard.

Comments?

Modern Medicine

Though I fully expected a witch doctor a la ooo eee ooo aaa aaa bing bang walla walla bing bang to come dancing through the door yesterday afternoon, it wouldn't have mattered much since I was face-down on an operating room table with instruments poking into my spine.

I had my epidural yesterday afternoon.

After the insertion of an IV tube in my left arm - which interestingly enough didn't hurt as much as the one for my gall bladder surgery a couple years ago, I was off to the operating room which consisted of something akin to a massage table next to a mini MRI machine.

I had expected to have been knocked out for the procedure, but was fully awake, and while the pin-like pricks in my back weren't painful, they didn't last but a minute.

I was in and out of "surgery" for not much longer than fifteen minutes.

Of course, I also expected my arm pain to cease immediately, but was told it might take a week or two.

Lovely. Two more weeks of agonizing arm pain, making it downright impossible to type, let along drive due to the cocktail of Diazepam and Lortab. And this morning, I awoke with not a pain in my arm, but Princess barking at the closed bedroom door "asking" to be let out.

Stumbling towards the door, tripping over Marilee's recliner, and an awkwardly-placed pillow, thus began the three-dog-one-human march down the stairs.

THAT was more stumble than march since the lovely drugs intended to calm me a bit apparently haven't left my body yet.

Dogs have now been let out, and thought I'd blog a bit before returning to bed.

And have just remembered one of the "possible" side effects of the procedure - blurred vision, and my hunting and pecking is a bit offf.

HAVING TROUBLE TYPING. Not that I ever learned, mind you; I don't know a home row from a throw rug, and those little nubbins on the 'F' and 'J' leys get in the way. Not to mention the eraser-stick smack dab in the middle of the two.

Have had to re-read everything I've typed thus far, and it's taking far longer to type this than usual, and am adding extra characters all over the place.

And just glanced at the clock - it's taken me a full forty-five minutes to type this little enrty.

Methinks I need to get back to peaceful slumber to sleep off what the hell ever it is that's still in my veins.

Except for the cortisone - THAT can stay for a while.

Yes, This Post Is About Religion

I don't post about religion. Seriously.

But the following linked article IS about religion, and I just had to share.

IMHO, "Margo" is correct in her assessment.

And if YOU have a problem with that, then, well, you know:

Dear Margo: Religious Fanatics on the Lunatic Fringe

I'm now going to take my Zombie pills and nap before my doctor's appointment...

Taking A Break

I'm off work this week, but I'd rather it would be for more pleasurable pursuits.

My prescriptive cocktail currently consists of Ibuprofen, Diazepam, and Lortab; individually, they do nothing for the pain in my arm, but combined, they do wonders for the pain caused by a multitude of pinched nerves in my neck.

As such, I cannot drive and thus do my daily work routine.

And so as to not exacerbate anything that may b e going on in my arm as a result, I'm taking a break from blogging as it is too painful to sit with my arms extended,

Prepare for a barrage of topics in the next week or so...

♫ Make The Pain Go Away ♫

Hopefully, the little musical notes will translate well into the title of this post.

Had my MRI done last Wednesday. While the procedure itself wasn't painful, the laying motionless for twenty-five minutes was excruciating.

And Friday was the the follow-up consultation.

I'd type more just now, but it is far too painful to type.

More later.

Great Post At TechCrunch By Robin Wauters

Titled "There We Go Again. No, Micropayments Won’t 'Save Journalism'", this has to do with online newspapers' presence on the web trying to save their skins by charging for their content.

Sorry, just stirring the pot once again - at least I didn't mention the Deseret News.

If It Weren't True THEY Wouldn't Let It Be Said

Except, of course, there is no "they."

I've heard that phrase too many times over the last few years. Like the friend that said he'd found the miracle cure for all that ails mankind, and almost overdosed on colloidal silver.

So though you may read something on my blog, you should know that everything I say here is MY opinion, and you have the choice of believing it or not. And heaven forbid you might have your own opinion. Because this IS America, and everyone CAN have their own opinion.

MY opinions last week about a certain newspaper don't amount to much, and don't become anywhere near fact, unless others say the same things, and can back their views with facts. Since I was only opining, I felt I did not need to do that. But out of curiosities' sake, I did go off looking for others' viewpoints mirroring my own.

And found quite a few.

One blog post¹ from Adam at glaadblog.org states, in part, that "[The Deseret News] has historically sought to be perceived as a credible mainstream media publication, dedicated to fair coverage of news stories." That is, it had done so until one Joe Cannon took over leadership of the paper as Editor-in-Chief. Adam further says "Though the paper’s editorial positions have always been closely aligned with those of the Mormon Church, the news coverage has been generally consistent with impartial, non-partisan mainstream journalistic standards."

Hmmm... "Mainstream journalistic standards". Like layouts, perhaps?

No, I did not dig back in any archival printed copies of the Deseret News to see if "above the fold" had been adhered to in the past. All I was saying last week is than in that here and now, it did not appear that those journalistic standards were being adhered to.

Interestingly enough, the thing that began Adam's blog post was an event that happened in February of this year: twelve reporters at the Deseret News had protested the treatment of their written articles; their protest was to remove their bylines from their articles. To the average American news reader, a byline may not mean much, but it is the "byline" which is the only thing that identifies the person who wrote the article. If enough of an article is altered such that it is no longer your words, then removing your byline is perfectly acceptable.

Adam further says in his post: "...that they [the reporters] believe that under [Joe Cannon's] direction, stories have been edited to present news through the filter of Mormon religious beliefs. In some cases, the protesters suggest stories were completely pulled because they did not strictly adhere to Mormon religious teachings and political views."

Again we see something I touched on in my posts last week. In my Above The Fold, the Deseret News said (through the Boston Globe article) that the "Election has spurred hate". In my Face and Hands post, the Deseret News speaks about how minorities are increasing in numbers statewide. If the Deseret News is in fact more strictly adhering to Mormon religious teachings and Mormon political views, where does that put them by placing those particular articles above the fold?

Now I'm done with the topic.

¹ I prefer to use the term "blog post" versus "article", unless the item I refer to is from an actual newspaper's website. That's just part of MY style guide.

THIS Was Expected

After commenting twice this week (here and here), in a not-very-savory way about the Deseret News, I totally expected something today, and was not disappointed.

Well, sort of.

We've gotten into the habit of not answering the door after a certain hour - particularly when the dogs go ape-sh!t. It's hard enough to talk to each other when the dogs are barking any other time of the day; when Lexie gets going, it's actually quite funny. But when holding her and trying to listen to a visitor at the door, it's downright impossible. So we don't even bother.

Late this afternoon, the doorbell rang, and the dogs immediately headed to the front of the house. The din had ebbed a bit when there was added a knock, too. Thus began anew the bedlam.

But this week, the bedlam really started Tuesday when I mentioned the Deseret News' habit of not playing by long-held rules of newspaper publishing. What transpired thereafter were visits to my blog from THE Deseret News - nine times - and the next day one visitor from THE Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

I commented to Marilee, and several others, mind you, that I was betting I'd have visitors with white shirts and black name tags.

When going out for my evening constitutional on the front porch just now, a card fluttered down from the door jamb.

I wondered aloud if Sisters Hansen and Miller read my blog, too.

How Do You Say Hallelujah In Chinese?

Actual news above the fold in the Deseret News this morning:

Guess this means we won't have to worry about Jon in 2012, as this article from the Washington Post points out.

Face And Hands

They're making this entirely too easy.

Unless you have a disconnect in the third dimension, you'll be able to see where the fold is, in these two photos:

The rules are:

1. The article above the fold sells the paper
2. The most important article should have the largest headline

And for all intents and purposes, both 1 and 2 should reference the same item.

Admittedly, my last Journalism class was thirty-four years ago, but print Journalism was all there was then. So unless I'm missing some underlying style guide, what the hell heck is going on?

School Daze

Here in late spring, a boy's mind begins to look forward to summer. Days of fun with friends, frolicking in the ole swimmin' hole, fishin' with...

Wait, that's a bygone era.

This summer, the certain boy is Taylor, and there's no swimmin' hole, nor is there anywhere to fish. Maybe in the Jordan River, but you'd probably not want to eat (or touch, for that matter) anything that could even live in that water.

So what's a boy to do?

If not for the events of earlier this week, he'd be sittin' on his ass playing WoW. But that's not going to happen - he's been cut off.

In not so much detail, suffice to say that as we were getting ready to go to work, Marilee and I, and Taylor for school, he announces at 7am - the time we take him to school - that he has no clean pants to wear.

Having spent the weekend mowing the grass with his brother Chris, not only were the pants grass-stained, but they'd also had something spilled on them.

"Wear your shorts" was the comment from Marilee, while mine was... well, I won't say what I was thinking.

Into the washing machine went the pants. Looking at my watch, I began the waiting period.

Thirty minutes later, the drying cycle began.

Where's Taylor during this period? Down in his room playing WoW. And likely formulating a plan.

At 8am - neither Marilee nor I had left for work, since we still had to wait for the dryer, Taylor, now dressed for school, asks me "When do you want to leave?", I reply "NOW".

Marilee, already in her car and about to drive off, I say "Wait, I need to get my laptop". In that short period, Taylor has gone outside, spoken to Marilee, and has decided not to go to school after all, since he's already missed most of his first period and a test, and there's now no reason to even go.

I get this second-hand, and...

What's the word beyond "livid"?

Twurkers

Lately it seems every term that would otherwise have nothing whatever to do with Twitter has been turned into somewhat of a Twitterism. Compare "people" to "tweeple" or "tweeps", as an example.

One I'd like to suggest is a "twurker": a lurker who watches other tweeps' tweets yet never contributes to conversations.

Like this twit who just started following my updates:

1891 followers
1 update
following 1465 people

Who the hell follows someone with just ONE update? If your updates aren't up into at least triple digits, you ain't following me.

Twits.

Above The Fold Redux

I apparently hit a nerve with my post yesterday about the Deseret News' "above the fold" article on hate spurred by President Obama's election. That the election happened six months ago is not at issue. Nor is his inauguration just 100 days or so ago.

Interestingly enough, I got just one comment out of that post, though my readership grew by about 500%. The comment follows:

"How do you know the DesNews is afoot?"

While I don't think the Deseret News has any ulterior motive in the information they presented, at issue is the way it was presented: above the fold. You see the "above the fold" presentation method on a daily basis - how far down are you going to scroll on a website until you see something worth reading? If something isn't in the first screenful, you're likely to move on to another website. Above the fold works in online media as well. See the Web Style Guide and look for the heading "Home page content and 'the fold'." I don't have need to make this stuff up.

So since the Deseret News put that particular article above the fold, someone at the Deseret News thought it more important than - as I presented yesterday - the article about the wounded police officer.

I am not backing down from my portrayal of the Deseret News as a newspaper that may not play by accepted practices laid down centuries ago regarding layout.

I will, however, admit to my readers that even though my lowly little bob's bs blog had over 35 views within 10 minutes after I pressed the "publish" button, I further spread MY words by posting the link to my blog on Twitter and Facebook with the following link:

"Hate-mongering at the Deseret News: http://bit.ly/kqRk1 "

In hindsight, "mongering" may have been a bit harsh.

What do YOU think?

Above The Fold

There is, in newspaper parlance, a term that refers to what appears first to a potential reader. That potential reader is one who would buy a paper on a newsstand. Not the one wet and mangled underneath your car in your driveway. Because this term was coined long before home delivery.

So it comes as no surprise that the most important article in any given newspaper, smack-dab on the front page, should be the one that sells the paper. And what was on the front page this morning, above the fold, of the Mormon-church-owned Deseret News? This:

Election has spurred hate

I put that in bold text so you wouldn't miss it. That this headline should be above the fold doesn't surprise me any, considering the source. But wait, there's more.

The "source" of this article is not from the Deseret News, nay, it's from the Boston Globe. I know not what's above the fold in the Boston Globe this morning. It doesn't really matter. What matters is that of all the articles the Deseret News could have put above the fold is this one.

Assuming the Deseret News thinks this should be the lead article, the article that should grab the attention of whomever should see it on a newsstand, or in a coin-operated newspaper box, should it not have the largest headline? THAT article is below the fold:

The largest headline is about a Lehi, Utah, police officer who was shot in the head during what should have been a routine traffic stop, if not for a severe mental illness that made the shooter paranoid. She was later shot and killed by backup officers who later arrived at the scene.

That the Deseret News, using whatever logic they had in the news room that day, chose to use a hate-mongering tactic as they did, is deplorable. The officer injured in the line of duty should, and does, deserve more, than to be considered less important than an article retelling something that happened six months ago.

Oh, one other thing... also above the fold, top-right-hand-corner: Whoopti-doo, the Utah state license plate is officially 100 years old this year. News worthy? Hardly.

Just what kind of news-gathering is going on at the Deseret News, to put THAT particular graphic on the front page? Be it known that's not MY emphasis on the numbers. WTF?

There's no brilliantly stimulating anything at the Deseret News.

It's all BS.

Unmanned Warrior Plane To Be Tested At Dugway

Thankfully, this drone doesn't look anything like a plane and should fly completely unnoticed over 'war zones'.

Unmanned Warrior plane to be tested at Dugway

Jenn's Graduation

This is the first of quite a few photos I took at Jenn's graduation yesterday at the U of U. Will post them at Walgreen's website such that you can order some for your very own. I'll supply you all with a link when I have them posted.

A New Chapter And A New Chapter

VERY busy day today.

I'm stoked that a new Star Trek enterprise is beginning today; we've already decided to make a go of it to see the new movie - WE meaning myself, Marilee, Taylor, Chris, Jenn, Ramin and even Guy. And whomever else might want to come along.

Guy?

That would be Jenn and Chris' Dad.

But all that will come after the other new chapter beginning today. You see, all of us - and likely ten thousand or so others - will bed taking part in commencement exercises at the University of Utah.

Jennifer is graduating today!

Over 7,100 graduates will be in attendance - with all their friends and families. All clotted in one place at the U. Chris graduated 2½ years ago from USU in Logan, and while a large affair, it twern't nearly as big.

One difference I'll take advantage of is that the trusty Olympus had died during Chris' ceremony, so I'll be getting some (hopefully) choice photos of Jenn's.

Both boldly going where no one has gone before.

Horehound

There's no 'W' in Horehound, so don't bother looking it up.

Ever had Horehound? We're talking the candy here; I've never had the tea, or even seen the herb. But it's oh, so tasty. Really a delicate taste that...

OK, so I really don't know what it tastes like. I suppose it's an acquired taste. My Dad was the one who first got me to try one of the candies; I suppose it's a bit of an old-world treat.

I know of only one local store that sells Horehound; it's Western Nut on 3rd West in Salt Lake. It's manufactured by Claeys Candies in South Bend, Indiana.

Stop by Western Nut and grab a bag of Horehound. Honestly.

History Of The Internet

No, there's no Al Gore here. Nor is there anything tongue-in-cheek, as you might expect. No, this is a legit history. Well done!

Welcome To Old Age

...that's what Dave "from the office" said this morning.

Had a doctor's appointment this morning - don't let the moniker "sports medicine" fool you. He's an orthopedist. But "sports medicine" allows him to (likely) charge an arm and a leg (literally) for his services.

The appointment was for the pain I've had in my right arm ever since Princess took her tumble down the stairs. No, I wasn't in the way when she tumbled, but during the week that she had problems going up the stairs, I spent the evenings on the couch on the first floor to keep her from attempting the climb. A "baby-gate" prevented her from climbing the stairs thereafter.

Unfortunately, spending that much time on the couch exacerbated a problem I appear to have had for some time: while an MRI later this week will seal the deal as far as a definitive diagnosis, I have Degenerative Disc Disease or so my orthopedist thinks.

Short-term, I'm taking Methylprednisolone for pain and inflammation, and Diazepam (Valium) to help me sleep at night. After my MRI, they'll decide which of three possible outcomes there are:

Time/Therapy/Meds, or
Injections, or
Surgery.

Thrilled at all three.

You Might Be A Redneck If...

Redneck Air Conditioner:

From eBaum's World.

Car Window Fail

I'll bet this guy backs into his parking spots:

Car Window Fail

I Wouldn't Have Thought It Possible

But it was full when the trash collection company came by to pick up the trash bin yesterday morning:

THAT story began here.

Ethical Twitter Marketing Practices

Contradictory is this title.

Lately I'm getting followers on Twitter who have MLM this and MLM that in their Twitter bios. Or "How to increase your followers".

Come on, tweeps - the internet is becoming one big mega mall.

How about we return to the origins of the internet - information sharing and only information sharing.

And not having to worry about marketing ethics.

Perspective

Seen on Twitter today:

"90 people get the swine flu and everybody wants to wear a mask. A million people have AIDS and no one wants to wear a condom..."

Rear-End First

Get your mind out of the gutter.

Will someone please tell me what the trait is, that makes people insist on backing-in to parking spaces? Is it a desire to be a trucker? Or do they need to make a fast getaway?

It's always a front-end first person that has to wait for-ev-er for the dimwit rear-end-first parker to manipulate his (typically) too-large-for-the-spot vehicle to back into said space.

Maybe there's a Freudian reason for the behaviour.

Sitting here in a national supermarket chain parking lot, after having jusr repaired something, I'm doing my call clusure "stuff" with my driver's side door open. A honk scares the bejesus out of me as a mullet is trying to back up his shoddy-looking pickup - diagonally, no less - next to my truck.

Why the hell is he...

Wait! Mullet?

Ahhhhh...

Opposable Thumbs To Infinity And Beyond

There's a reason God chose not to give cats opposable thumbs, but until you've seen a polydactyl cat, you wonder if He might have forgotten His rule: Cat Found with 26 Toes

Stupid Switch

My back has been killing me lately. Started Sunday whilst moving some boxes from the driveway into the garage. One such box was over-packed and thus too heavy, but I didn't realize that until my back reminded me it was there.

Ibuprofen, Lortab, and some muscle relaxants have done little to quell the pain, though the OTC heat wraps do the best job at dulling the pain. Go figure.

As in the past, it'll just take time for whatever is pinched, stretched, or otherwise sore to go away.

And when it does, that little switch in my brain will reset - you know the one. It's the Stupid Switch^® that makes you forget how much something hurts.

When you're Stupid.

Got Ourselves A Convert

Generally speaking, I don't proselytize my beliefs. Provided I would even be able to come up with one.

One thing I do believe, is that Guinness is the nectar of the gods, and I'm willing to share that with anyone who will listen. I've tried over the course of the last few years to at least get Jenn or Chris to at least take a sip. But they have that all-too-familiar belief that any dark beer is going to taste nasty.

Yes, tis true, most are quite nasty. Until you've tasted Guinness, that is.

One person I was extolling the virtues of Guinness to has been Dave "from the office". He's not so much a teetotaler as just someone who doesn't imbibe that often. But when he's on a "business trip" as he's been last week and this, he finally had the opportunity to have some real Guinness - from a tap no less.

You have not lived until you've had a draft Guinness.

Allow me to paraphrase his reaction as he told me over the phone last week: "OH-MY-GOD."

Yup. Nectar of the gods.

TwitScoop

I haven't yet decided if I want to put the following in a sidebar on my blog:



Readers?

NASCAR vs. Nascar

Is it blasphemy to write "Nascar"? No, according to the New York Times:

Consistent, Sensitive and Weird

Microsoft's Profit Sinks 32%

Just wow:

Microsoft's profit sinks 32% - Apr. 23, 2009

Nine Words Women Use

1. Fine: This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.

2. Five Minutes: If she is getting dressed, this means a half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.

3. Nothing: This is the calm before the storm. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing usually end in fine.

4. Go Ahead: This is a dare, not permission. Don't Do It!

5. Loud Sigh: This is actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you about nothing. (Refer back to #3 for the meaning of nothing.)

6. That's Okay: This is one of the most dangerous statements a women can make to a man. That's okay means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.

7. Thanks: A woman is thanking you, do not question, or Faint. Just say you're welcome.

8. Whatever: Is a women's way of saying F@!K YOU!

9. Don't worry about it, I got it: Another dangerous statement, meaning this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but is now doing it herself. This will later result in a man asking "What's wrong?" For the woman's response refer to #3.

*Share this with the men you know, to warn them about arguments they can avoid if they remember the terminology.

*Share this to all the women you know to give them a good laugh, cause they know it's true.

It's All In The Delivery

Lunch time. Parking lot of an Arby's. Listening to NPR.

They're saying that people are moving less than they have in sixty years, according to the US Census.

The guest speaking now says that you can actually tell where people move to, depending on certain criteria:

"Rich people move one way, poor people move another." He then added a couple other examples with "Democrats more here... and more educated people move there."

What's that, you say?

Freudian slip of sorts?

Rich, poor, then Democrat, smart?

Good comparison, there.

Detroit Woman's Underwire Bra Deflects Bullet

Detroit woman's underwire bra deflects bullet

Recommended For Children?

Cow Magnets!

Cow Magnet at Steve Spangler Science

Why? Thought it would be a good first step in trying to figure out the intricacies of making cylindrical shapes in PhotoShop, and remembered the cow magnets I saw when I was much younger. MUCH younger.

Back in the day, my Mom and Dad and I lived in what had been a farming area; cow magnets were buried in the dirt everywhere.

So while doing a GIS for the magnets, found the above link for actual cow magnets.

And they're even recommended for children!

The Joys Of Home Ownership

Late yesterday afternoon, after Taylor asked if I had done anything to the internet, snide remarks aside, I replied that I had not.

"What's wrong?"

"The patch for WoW stopped in mid-download."

(He didn't actually say that, but that was the paraphrased version.)

I'd just been Tweeting seconds before, and now that he's said that, I found that, yes, the internet was indeed "down".

A trip to the basement where all things electronic and computer things lay, it was eerily quiet. But the lights were on. Sherman and Molly scattered as I dove under a table to find the UPS off.

Not a good sign.

A mad dash to the circuit breaker panel, and a long-forgotten project leapt back into my mind. I had never gotten around to marking the circuit breakers and where they go.

Note to self - get over to Home Depot and get that tester that helps identify such things.

It was all for naught, however - none of the breakers were tripped. But the puzzling thing was that the lights were on, and that circuit is from the same breaker as the power for the basement equipment.

Though panic had not yet set in, I moved the UPS power cord to the socket above it, and the lights re-appeared on the UPS. Power button? Check. Database server power? Check. Router, cable modem, WAP? Check, check, and check.

So maybe the wires have come loose from the other socket.

Must - buy - circuit - breaker - tester.

BTW - are YOUR breakers marked?

Everything I Learned About Marketing

...I learned from Susan Boyle:

From Advertising Age.

She Named Her Kid Dante

She named her kid Dante and she's worried about the Cantina scene from Star Wars? Wait until the kid starts reading his name in other... books.

The Mommy Files : When are kids old enough to watch Star Wars?

Fear-Mongering At Its Best

And it happens in 2012:

Pillars of incandescent green writhe like gigantic serpents across the skies

Non-Standard SOP

Just got off the phone with a dispatcher. Which I was trying to avoid in the first place.

As impersonal as texting is, by nature, it conveys pertinent information as quickly as possible without all the side-effects of tone and delivery. Take, for example, YELLING at someone over the phone. Compared with YELLING in a text message, all-caps speak volumes without the person on the other "end" getting all choked up over the one having the breakdown.

Mental or otherwise.

The question becomes why is it necessary to have one procedure for speaking your request vs. texting your request? Shouldn't the two be the same, if only because one is more straightforward?

The breakdown is not personal, but a breakdown in communications.

PDA's

Coming from someone who embraces technology - not bleeding edge, I have my limits - you might think the title has to do with Personal Digital Assistants. Not so.

This has to do with Public Displays of Affection. Back in the day, Mark Collins wrote an article in the Broadcaster about PDA's at high schools, specifically on the Tustin High School campus. I couldn't say, now, if his article was an assignment or an op-ed piece. Or, more likely, it was because at the time, he had no one to have a PDA with. (Sorry, Mark).

This morning, during the ritual of taking Taylor to school, I witnessed just such a PDA. But all Taylor said was "Sometimes parents let their kids drive the car to school."

What had just transpired was the female driver of the car ahead of us had gotten out of the car, books in hand; the passenger was getting out and walking around to the driver's side. I'd seen this behavior before, and Taylor had been correct. Parents did do this, it was obvious. But the female driver - obviously a high school student judging by the way she was dressed - stopped momentarily and kissed the passenger on his way around the car. On the lips. This wasn't a "have a nice day" father-daughter sort of kiss. This was far too familiar.

The gentleman who was now getting in as the driver didn't look too old - maybe it was a first-year college student dropping off his still-in-high-school girlfriend. Or maybe not.

Or maybe I'm getting to the age where things like this are beginning to get to me. We see this too often any more in news headlines. NEVER from back in the day when I was a high school student.

Maybe Mark Collins was on to something after all.

How To Instantly Fail A Breathalyzer Test

Breath Alcohol Analyzer AlcoHAWK® Slim Breathalyzers

Madden's Only Retiring, Dammit!

Watching NASCAR just now on Fox, and they were talking about John Madden, but the music playing behind their little "tribute" sounded more like a eulogy than a tribute.

He's only retiring!

Oh, wait... it IS Fox, after all.

Anthropomorphization

Free Ice Cream (Really!)

Ben & Jerry's is making area ice cream lovers an offer they can't refuse - FREE ice cream and the opportunity to help Utah's homeless dogs and cats.

If you're in the Salt Lake City area, plan to visit Ben & Jerry's store at the Gateway next Tuesday, April 21st for Free Cone Day! The cones are FREE and all tips collected will be donated to No More Homeless Pets in Utah.

The participating Ben & Jerry's Scoop Shop is located at the Gateway (on the 2nd level, next to Starbucks, above the fountain).

Perry Mason Arrested

DA: Practicing law gets Houston's Perry Mason arrested

Raymond Burr being held for questioning.

Enough Already!

OK, people, we need to band together and find that one individual in the Salt Lake Valley who insists on smiling every time the current crappy weather comes up in conversation and says:

[Wait for it]

"Yes, but we need the water."

"To drown you?"

Robber Eats Shoots and Leaves

At a Panda Express:

One dead in Far South Side shooting

Didn't Do dooce

On a day that saw Lexie get an awesome grooming from Angela at Meowser's Pet Salon, and the possibility of an awesome evening at a book signing by none other that dooce herself, Princess took a tumble down the stairs that left her limping and obviously in much pain. We're going to the vet this morning.

Needless to say, I didn't make it last night.

So it will likely be some time before I can be in her presence, since she's seven months pregnant.

I think we can all hope that some day we'd have the stamina to do a three-leg book tour while under those circumstances.

And Princess on three legs? That's painful enough.

dooce

This blog is just ten days away from being a year old. That's right, I've been sharing my bs for a YEAR now.

And in all that time, I've been doing something that a grammar fanatic would roll his or her eyes at - I've been capitalizing all the words in my blog titles. As an example, I'd put "This Is A Blog Post" rather than the more-accurate "This is a Blog Post". I figured the departure from proper use would make my readers think there was something inherently wrong, that for some reason my posts looked a bit "off", worth reading.

Or maybe that was a lot of bs.

My blog post today is a complete departure from my prior bs - THIS title is all in lower case. And for good reason.

dooce - all in lower case - is more properly "spelled" as dooce®. That's right, dooce is a registered trademark. Heaven forbid dooce® should be used by anyone other than its originator, and that would be Heather B. Armstrong. She is the most-famous personal blogger on the interwebs, and she lives right here in Salt Lake City. She'd be one of those nameless faces in all of Utah, except that she has been on major networks promoting her book "It Sucked and then I Cried".

And on the final leg of her book-signing tour, she's going to be right here in Salt Lake City TONIGHT. Yes, dear readers, the rock star blogger, in our own neighborhood.

I'm going to try to have the stamina to stand in a (likely) monstrously-long line of other dooce® groupies. Where?

KING'S ENGLISH BOOKSTORE
1511 South 1500 East
Salt Lake City, UT 84105

...at 7:00pm. Fifteenth and Fifteenth for those of you in the valley. Wonder how bad the parking will be.

You may ask yourselves why would I want to go - after all, it's a book about post-partum depression, and that I already browsed through the book a bit over the weekend when Marilee and I went to Barnes and Noble. Could have bought it then.

Because, dear reader, I started THIS blog in hopes that it would someday be as famous as hers. Because at the time it was a great outlet for my thought processes. But maybe - just maybe, being in her presence - and a lot of other bloggers I'd guess - maybe some of that luck would rub off.

Or maybe that's just more of bob's bs.

And This Is My Problem How?

Last fall, a call came in for a printer that may have been damaged by water. The customer really didn't know, as they unplugged the printer so as not to make things any worse.

Today, the same location had the exact same problem. Same printer. Same everything.

Except one thing.

The technical experts have made a request that we find some way to keep the printer covered so that water doesn't drip on it any more.

Yeah, riiiight.

I've got a better idea:

FIX THE DAMN ROOF!

A Deck Of Tweets

Being so new to the world of Twitter, I've been overwhelmed by the number of external applications that work with Twitter. I've already played with twt.fm and Twittermail; and I can Tweet with the best of 'em, sending SMS texts with my phone.

I even created a less-than-stellar background for my Twitter page that takes into account the transparent background of the Twitter logo. Yeah, my background still needs work.

But when I downloaded and installed Tweetdeck and found out it also allows me to see all my friends on Facebook, I was hooked.

On Twitter. And Tweetdeck.

Take a look.

Leftovers

As is the case with most holiday feasts, Easter is no different, and there are always going to be leftovers. Not sure if it's because there's just too much food, or everyone just scales back a bit such that there will be leftovers. Maybe it's a psychological thing.

Maybe it's in our genes.

Around here, it's ham this and ham that for Easter leftovers. I came home yesterday afternoon for a minute before another call and picked some gristle off the ham bone; last night I had ham pickin's, green beans, and ham fried rice.

Marilee, on the other hand, made herself a ham sandwich.

Reaching for the sandwich that she had momentarily set on the arm of her chair, upon reaching for the sandwich, it had vanished into thin air. Or so it seemed at first.

"BAMBI!" was the startling cry as I dove under the stairs to only find a few crust crumbs left. Total time elapsed: less than thirty seconds.

"DID SHE EAT THAT WHOLE THING?"

"Yeah, but it didn't stay down long"

Thinking back to my discussion of fur turds, it looked like a ham turd.

[Hey, I never promised this would be devoid of grossness.]

TWEET - tweet

This has nothing to do with Twitter. Sort of.

TWEET - tweet.

Chevy Chase as Andy Farmer¹ took care of the situation with a hot cup of coffee.

Michael Rapaport² as Gary horrified Phoebe with a service revolver.

Me? I'd just shake the damn tree, wherever it is.

Don't get me wrong, I like wildlife. But there's a bird nearby in the

TWEET - tweet

neighborhood that has this incessant tweeting voice that's driving me crazy. This morning on the porch with my cup of coffee, I realized I was so mesmerized with the tweeter that I didn't hear the chirping of the other birds in the neighborhood. It's that annoying.

I've half a

TWEET - tweet

mind to head down to the Division of Wildlife Resources this week to find out what kind of bird this is, is it native to Utah - we already know what that department thinks of non-native species and I don't think I'd continue to be in good stead with most of my friends - and what can be done in a humane

TWEET - tweet

way to eradicate the bird, if not moving it to another part of town. Maybe Magna.

Maybe you've heard this bird. I have heard it everywhere I've lived in Utah; never heard it in California. On several occasions, they've gotten to a shrill level so as to make me want to forego the outdoors and seek quiet indoors. I'd even rather have the dogs barking than to hear this bird.

OK, so maybe that's a little extreme.

Yes, I know about the birds and the bees, etc. This

TWEET - tweet

bird is only trying to find someone to shack up with, and once they do, theoretically, the chirping will cease.

And maybe I myself will tweet about it.

¹ From the movie Funny Farm
² From the Friends episode "The One with the Cop"

Watch What You Say

Blogger sued for $1.8 million in defamation case

Trashed

I'm not looking forward to this.

Every year for the last two, at least one of us - Marilee and I - have gone to Logan's Summerfest. Not exactly your typical artiste faire, it's held in the center of town and folks from miles around attend the one-day event of artists, food concessions - just plain fun.

The first year, it just so happened that Summerfest was on the day we decided to go to the Anniversary Inn in Logan. Last year, the timing wasn't quite right, and while we would have loved to do the Inn again, I ended up going alone - I conveniently had a service call in Logan. Pure coincidence. Honest.

Always wanting to find a perfect reminder of Summerfest, the first year we got a cute sign that said "My house was clean last week, sorry you missed it." Funny thing, that. Last year it was replaced by one that said "I have a kitchen because it came with the house."

Both from the same vendor/artiste, we'll probably go by their booth this year to see what is new.

But this isn't a story about Summerfest, though I may put something up after we go this year. This is about the former sign; the latter may occupy the space for some time. The former is all about cleaning. LOTS of cleaning. Being ever the one to remind me of all the crap stuff we've collected over the years (Marilee would comment that it's mostly my stuff crap), Marilee said that this year we were going to do something about it. And she was SERIOUS.

When she said she was going to rent a trash bin, I figured it would be a run-of-the-mill back-of-a-restaurant dumpster. I was not prepared for what was sitting in the driveway when I came home for lunch today.

Had we used our county-issued trash cans for this task, it would have taken us a month... to... collect... all... the...

[Sorry, Marilee's in my head suddenly. "What's that? It's going to be there for how long?"]

Sorry for the interruption. THIS is going to be in the driveway for a MONTH:

Jeebus.

Gaudy Isn't Only My Thing

From dooce.com today - a "Sparkle Ring".

And I thought I was the only one fascinated by god-awful rings.

As dooce puts it "...I like my jewelry to have a tiny touch of tacky", I'd never have guessed a blogging rock star would admit to such a thing.

Marilee and dooce would never go jewelry shopping together.

But it makes me wonder - does dooce shop on HSN?

History Is Creepy

If you're like most people on the planet, you use Google as your primary search vehicle. Mine is.

Since we use it so often, it comes as no surprise that once you've found something particularly useful on the interwebs, you'll want to find that something again.

So you think to yourself "Just how did I find that thing I went to previously?" and "How will I ever find it again?"

Sure, you can use your browser's history button, but that only shows you ALL the websites you've visited, but not how you got there. Apparently, Google knew you would one day want to figure out what queries you made AND what you found.

I found out this supposedly little-known secret about Google from Revision 3's Veronica Belmont on the Tekzilla Daily I TiVo every day. She says it's a bit creepy - I'm inclined to agree:

Google History

You'll have to have a Google account set up to do this, but that shouldn't be a problem for most people.

Creepy indeed.

Oh My Gaudy

Marilee alerted me to this abomination this morning:

She recently asked me why I was so fascinated by bad jewelry.

THIS.

The Power Of The Written Word

Last night, after hearing about the major typographical error from BYU's newspaper, I felt I had to make a comment about the situation on my blog. A major news organization even went so far as to say it was an "ungodly" mistake.

That's funny.

So today, while checking my statistics reporting service, I came across an interesting entry. One of the visitors to my blog was from none other than an institute of higher learning.

Yes, dear readers, someone from BYU visited my blog.

God forbid.

Word Cloud Generator

Another fun find:

Word cloud generated from the text on my blog:



Fun stuff!

Word Cloud Generator

Apostates vs. Apostles

I'll likely lose half my readers by commenting on this.

If this had been in a local paper, it would have been funn...

Oh, wait, it was. In a really bad funny way:

BYU student paper refers to “apostates” instead of “apostles”

A good proofreader can never be replaced by a spellchecker.

No-Style Guide

Marilee was watching the local Fox affiliate this morning; she was just hearing about the earthquake in Italy. Understandable, since I/we don't TiVo the news.

So the reporter on-the-scene says something that's become one of my pet peeves, though I've never admitted to it - has to do with word usage, and how certain circumstances are perceived.

The reporter said that in the aftermath of the earthquake, "...over a thousand were wounded."

Excuse me? I'd have thought they were injured.

Doesn't wounded suggest violence? As in people against people?

Where's the style guide for Fox news?

Watching HGTV Tonight

A peculiar statistic was just mentioned on HGTV that made both Marilee and I do a double-take.¹

The statistic in question said that half of all businesses in the United States are home-based. We both looked at each other incredulously, and figured someone at HGTV has got to be on drugs, and could we get our hands on some?

After all, we discussed, at least half of the people HGTV shows on House Hunters seems to have a home-based business, and they're doing quite well, thank you very much.

But that statistic made me do a quick Google search. And guess what? It's TRUE. Take a look:

Half of U.S. Businesses Are Home-Based - from the US Census' website!

Surely the stats are skewed somewhat, but not sure how.

The next question was a foregone conclusion: Why don't WE have a home-based business?

¹ To say we were watching HGTV may be a bit of a misnomer. Neither of us can stand live television any more; even on the rare occasion we watch TV live, we're forever trying to fast forward through the commercials. So for me to say we were watching HGTV tonight when the peculiar statistic came on, the show was actually recorded days ago.

Maximum Awwwwww

The adventures of Tom Thumb: The tiny puppy set to be the world's smallest dog

Dashtronic Watch

Marilee's car was overdue for its yearly safety and emissions check, so took care of that this afternoon while she was at Jenn's for NASCAR.

Of the magazines in the waiting room at the oil change place, I bypassed too many copies of Redbook and settled on Road & Track. While I'm not that into cars, I do enjoy drooling at all the sporty, hot cars I'd be interested in if I was having a midlife crisis.

One advertisement, however, did catch my eye. For a wristwatch, of all things. Again, though I'm not that into cars, this watch is styled after the minimal dashboards of 1930's vintage cars.

I decided I need this watch.

Instead of the back being stainless steel, it's the front that is metal. The back, on the other hand (no pun intended), is clear.

The reviews at the manufacturer's website shows I'm not the only one who thinks this is a cool watch.

And it's only $99. And now in GOLD for $129!

I think I want this for Father's Day.

Click below to buy a Stauer Watch!

The New Star Trek Movie Widget

Anyone want to go with?

Photography Is Not A Crime

Scary stuff:

Phoenix police harass photographer under Homeland Security pretense

So I'm wondering if the photos I took on the way back from Chicago would fall under the scrutiny of Homeland Security?

Wonder if they'll show up on my doorstep now, since I've commented about it publicly?

Police state?

This Is A Fun Find

Your mileage may vary. The original image was far too wide to be displayed correctly on Blogger, so I had to scale it down to fit within those constraints. I suppose with another platform this would work better.

But it's fun nonetheless!

Make your Stick Figure Family at FreeFlashToys.com

Covering The Past In History Class?

You'd think that would be a forgone conclusion. But considering the article linked below is from New Zealand, maybe they don't consider it as historically significant - their history, that is:

White supremacy-themed party an honest mistake

I've heard of this sort of thing before. Several years ago, a Provo newspaper had an article regarding a homeowner who had called the police, alerting them to a Star of David that had been spray-painted on his lawn. The officer who responded didn't know what the fuss was about, as he had never seen a Star of David before.

Hope history doesn't repeat itself.

The Mop Handle

This likely would be funnier if you had been there. Fair warning.

This story goes back many years, to about fifteen years ago. I had a co-worker who was really, really good on networking technologies, and went with him on numerous service calls.

Along with the tools of the trade he always carried a stick about four feet long - he'd use it to poke acoustic tiles in ceilings to see if network cables were in the ceiling, what kind they were, and whether they were in contact with any nasty EMI-inducing conduits.

The stick in question was a broom handle. He'd "borrowed" it from a broom in the office, and would return said handle to the broom after returning to said office.

Or so we thought.

Years later, when our digs were getting a bit cramped - this was just before UTA started building the University Line for TRAX - and we moved from downtown Salt Lake City to West Valley City; while packing, we found the business end of the broom was missing the handle. We basically figured it was hidden up in the ceiling somewhere and didn't try to find it - would likely be a surprise and a head-scratcher for whomever would later occupy the space.

Over the years, someone would mention the broom and the missing handle. Or the handle without the broom. As mentioned at the beginning of this post, you really did have to be there. But that damn broom and the history of it was always fresh in our memories, as was the purveyor of the original story. Did the handle really get swallowed by the ceiling, or did the handle user make off with it?

Or was it waiting in the wings to further perpetuate the story?

Over the years, people came and went. Then a couple years ago, due to getting a new contract, we gained a few new people in the office.

In the first few days, in any such environment, there's always a breaking-in period. For the existing people, you're wary of the new faces, of their mannerisms. For the new people, there's concern over their fitting in. Learning new procedures. And histories.

Ultimately, most of the new folks fit in rather well. Of course there were flare-ups; some of the embers never quite settled down, but for the most part, everyone got along.

Most of the remaining people were of sufficient age to be (not wanting to say fragile) careful of our physical limitations. So it came as no surprise that I wasn't the only one to have painful back problems. The only difference between all of us was the way each of us carried ourselves when we were ailing.

I, for one, always try to stay as vertical as possible when my back problems would flare up. My ("old") boss would do a quick shuffle. The other oldster in the mix would walk with a bit of a stooped-over gait.

Somewhere along the line, there was a flood in our stock room from a leaking pipe, likely frozen and backed-up with water from the roof. Searching for the mop, we discovered the mop handle was missing from the mop. Those of us who had been around for awhile wondered if the mop handle had gone the way of the broom handle, but that had been years ago, and was likely not in the ceiling. About that time our one oldster had mangled his back and came in with an uncharacteristic stoop to his gait. Upon seeing this, I called upon my ("old") boss and declared "I think I know where the mop handle went!"

The stooped one, hearing my declaration, asked where.

"Well, the way you're standing, it must be up your a..." ¹

So last weekend, after a weekly visit to Costco, I wrenched my back picking up a crate of bottled water; quite painful, I stayed home on Tuesday after driving to St. George and back on Monday. Six hundred miles of back spasms. After calling the requisite people to let everyone know I wouldn't be in, I later got a call from my good friend, the oldster.

"We appear to be missing the mop handle again. Have you seen it?"

¹ This being a family show, I'm not inclined to utter the word ass in context. But you get the idea.

The View From Above

Last week's trip to Chicago wasn't the first time I'd taken a plane ride, nor was it the first time I'd taken my camera on a trip. But it was the first time I'd combined the two. So while I did take photos of the snow machine in Denver and the equipment I was trained on in Chicago, I took photos inside a plane for the first time.

The return flight from Denver to Salt Lake afforded me a luxury I'd never experienced before - since the flight was "created" just for those of us stranded in Denver due to the weather, there were only 35 people on the plane, a Boeing 757. With so few people, there was plenty of room to stretch out, and we all took advantage of that.

When I checked in that morning, I'd requested a window seat, though it didn't much matter, since I had a whole row to myself!

During taxiing in Denver and through the de-icing operation, the Captain said he'd keep his chatter to a minimum, said he figured we all would just want to sleep. And we did. So it figures that just as I was floating into peaceful slumber, the plane had just banked right to fly up the Salt Lake Valley and on came the pilot to announce our descent. The loudspeaker? About four inches from my right ear. Emphasis on the loud.

That's about the time I realized I hadn't taken any airborne photos. So here are the best ones. Sorry about the haloes around some of the images, it couldn't be helped what with the several layers of non-optical-quality glass between me and the ether.

Next flight will have more photos, though with my luck I'll only fly at night.